Sticks and Stones
by Steady Silence
Summary: Sticks and stones may break your bones. But words can never hurt you. That is, unless you never use them. One shot about how one of Foxface's classmates is impacted by her death. This piece explores how grief can manifest itself in strange ways. Even when you hardly knew someone.


**Really quick author's note. PLEASE READ!: Well hello there! Thank you so much for clicking on my story. It really means a lot to me! :D This is just a little one shot about Foxface. It's told by a classmate of her's, who didn't really know her. Grief is a complex emotion, and even the death of those we barely know. Can touch us in the strangest ways. In this piece, her classmate (Who I did not give a name too. If you want to give her a name in a review, go ahead. xD) Just talks about how she's gone to the same school as Foxface (I've heard rumors of her name being either "Marissa" or "Finch". In this piece I'm saying that Marissa is her real name, yet for some reason she liked to go by Finch. :D) for years. Yet they never spoke a word to each other, or even knew each other. I tried to explore how the death of people you barely know, and the grief of strangers can impact you. Grief is such a complex emotion, really anything can happen with it.**

**Well, enough with the deep stuff. ****I do feel as if I could have done a bit better in some parts of this. Parts of it just feel a tad bit messy, and unorganized. But, this was kind of just written for fun. I write Foxface as a very quiet girl, who generally kept to herself. She had a few friends, but none that she was all that close too. Through her time in the arena, and after her death. Her classmates learn more about her. So, here is a little spiel of one of her classmates. About how her life has been impacted. **

**It's been awhile since I have watched, or read the Hunger Games. So if I get something wrong, I'm really sorry! :D **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Please read and review! :D**

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><p><span>Sticks and Stones<span>

Sticks and Stones may break your bones. But words can never hurt you.

That is, unless you never use them.

I know that girl. I've known her since the day I turned five. And started attending Kindergarten for the first time. I remember walking side by side with her in line. Growing up together over the course of time. Our paths were constantly bumping, crossing, and changing. But our hands never reached out to one another and touched.

Sometimes, I wonder what would've happened if they had. Would she and I have still been friends to this day? Would somehow, somewhere things have worked out differently for her and me?

But, I scarcely did know her so. I knew her name, and her face. But never anything much more than that. She and I had always been friendly towards one another, I supposed. But, we were never friends. Acquaintances, yes. But never friends. For, friends are the people who you run into on the weekends. Friends are the people you whisper with during class, and call out to after school. And yet, despite having known her for ten years of my life. I have never once heard her voice.

She never really talked much.

Her name was Marissa. Marissa spelled with only one R and two S's. But, nobody called her that. For reasons that I'll never know, she preferred to go by Finch.

Finch.

Finch. It's a type of bird. A small, bright and flutter-y type of bird. That we studied briefly in science class. Finches are just like your every day average bird (If such a thing exists). They are nothing special. There is nothing particularly exciting, or unique about them. They blend in with the rest of their flock. Soaring through the sky, until one day they quietly flutter back down to the earth. And at last reach their destination.

Marissa was just like any other district five girl. Her average height, and slender build. Didn't really stand out in any crowds. Her hair which was a red as the wires, and fires we work with here in district five. Is exactly what you'd expect a teen aged girl from our district to look like. Her strong facial features, and quiet little eyes blend in well with the people of our streets.

But what did make Finch stand out, was the way her mind worked. She was quiet. She'd always been quiet. She'd been that way ever since we were small. Perhaps her voluntary silence raised a few eyebrows every now and again. But, it never felt too strange. Only because Finch was ordinary. Too ordinary. So ordinary, that she'd blended into the background of my peer's and I's memories. She didn't talk much, so it was easy to forget she was even there. Sure, the girl did have friends. But, she never seemed that close to any of them. Marissa was just some shy, and quiet school girl. Worth a dime a dozen off the streets of district five.

Though, it makes me both sound and feel terrible. That's why I forgot about her. Well, I mean, I didn't like forget _forget_ about her. I knew she was there. I was aware of her presence. Sitting at her desk quietly in the school room. I just never noticed her. Never paid her much more than a glance, or two.

For ten whole years, I let her pass me by.

I forgot about her. For I never heard her voice.

Until the one day, that it actually mattered.

The schools are closed every reaping day. Sometimes, after the reaping. People act like it's a holiday. Glorifying and celebrating the fact that this year, their children were not picked. The bread is eaten, and the wine is drank. Kids come over to their friend's houses to spend the night. But every year, two doors are closed. The windows are shut. The drapes are drawn.

It's a confusing day, reaping day. I don't know whether to feel disturbed or grateful. That the capitol is at least giving my peers and I a day to pretty our bodies, and empty our minds. Before we attend the reaping ceremony. Where two sets of parents will watch their child walk to the stage. And suddenly remember that once upon a time. Their teenager was just a baby. A little, tiny baby. Being carried home from the hospital.

There isn't a single child in district five not scared that one day it will be them standing up on that stage. Being one of the wealthier districts, not a lot of our kids take Tessera. While we may not be as well off as the people of district's one and two. We still make ends meet, and are able to comfortably thrive.

Nobody ever thinks that it will be them who is picked. Though morbid, that stupid saying they always spread around: "May the Odds be ever in your favor." is in a way true. If you look at the problem probability wise. There truly is a large chance that you won't be picked.

There's also a large chance, that the child picked will not be from your town. Or your school. Or even your class. Such is how it goes with life in one of the largest districts- district five.

Maybe that's why I froze. Maybe that's why I'm always freezing. Everyone in my class suddenly froze in the Audience.

It had finally happened. They had picked one of our own.

It's almost kind of funny. Funny in a sick and kind of morbid way. That keeps your brain up all night flooded with thoughts. None of us had really noticed Finch. The girl who never spoke. Until the one day it mattered.

The day our escort escorted her to her death.

To us it was a wake up call. A wake up call, and a reminder. The Hunger Games truly took no prisoners. The thought suddenly become all too real to us. Because we finally began to see. That the capitol had hit us. And they were still hitting us. Hitting us, and beating us. And this time, they'd slapped far too close to home.

And yet because of all this chaos. I suddenly remembered her.

Her name was Marissa. But, she preferred to go by Finch.

Finch was your everyday average district five girl. She didn't use words, because she didn't need them. She was far too clever for such trivial things. She'd always been among the top students in our class. Scoring ninety-nine- but never one hundred on every test. Because there was always at least one question. Just one question, that she always overlooked. Too clever for her own good, Finch would over think something simple. And thus would get the answer wrong.

One of the girls in our class, that Finch was friends with. Said, that she'd always had this inkling that Finch viewed the world as a trick. Everything was some kind of trick question, or problem that she had to solve. Like an ongoing test in school. Except this time she knew no answers, and she couldn't study. She was far too clever for this problem. Even with the answer right out in front of her, she'd still refuse to accept it. Because, to her. Getting something the easy way, wasn't an option. It felt too much like cheating.

Finch- the girl from district five who was far too clever for her own good.

Sticks and stones would not break her bones. In the arena, Finch was a survivor. Her wit had gotten her this far. Scared, and starving. It was the only weapon she had left. And yet it was also the very thing that led to her downfall in the end.

I still remember the day it happened. Sometimes at night, the memory visits me in my sleep. These images will haunt me for the rest of my life. I could spend an eternity trying to forget the day, but it will never fade from my memory.

We were sitting in Math class. The occasional eye drifted in the direction of Marissa's empty seat. The games were sure to end soon, probably in only a number of days. Deaths happen closer together at the start, and ending of the games. Finch was down as one of the final few. Her name, her face, her words were scattered across bill boards. Her name was whispered and discussed along the streets of Panem. District five's sponsors did a good job of not letting the girl we'd all forgotten about, be forgotten.

We talked about her sometimes in class. Hanging around, and staying in the classroom, after our teacher left. On days when none of us had to work in the plants after school. It was just us, students, her peers. We talked about how it was sad. Sad, that we'd never noticed her. Sad that we never had the chance to know her. Sad that we'd all forgotten, or stopped caring much about her.

Until the very day she needed us most.

The few friends she had, always interjected. They told us stories about Finch's life that she'd shared with them. They told us about how clever she was. Marissa always looked at the world as if it were some problem. Like the kind we had to solve at school. A natural born perfectionist. Finch couldn't rest until everything looked, and felt completely perfect.

It was during these discussions, that I could finally, truly remember Finch. I could put a soul to the face I'd been looking at for years. This quiet, ordinary girl, who'd we had all forgotten about for years. Could finally be remembered. During the duration of the games. My little class at school got to know Finch better than we ever had before. When she came back home we were determined to help her. Help her find friends, help her recover. Just help her with whatever she, and her little family needed. We were ready to welcome her back home with open arms.

I truly thought that she had a chance. We all did. The arena was thinning out, the crowd was dying down. Surely, one of these days. Finch would make her move, and become the victor of the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games.

But that all changed, one dusty Tuesday morning.

I knew her name. I knew her face. I knew that she was clever, and analytic. Cynical, but kind. The type of person who set their own expectations, and didn't care what anyone else thought of them.

She was far too clever for her own good.

Sticks and stones may break your bones. But, words will never hurt you. I never heard Finch speak. She never said a word. I know it sounds crazy, and maybe even a bit hard to believe that even after knowing her for ten years. I still never heard her voice. Despite her intellect. Finch didn't raise her hand in class. We were part of two totally different social groups. Though we had grown up side by side, our hands never did touch. We were just acquaintances. Never friends, nor foes. The day her interview aired on TV, my little sister had tripped over some loose gravel on the side walk and skinned her knees. I was too busy cleaning out her cuts to hear Finch speak on TV.

Sticks and stones may break my bones. And her words will haunt me.

It's confusing. I barely even knew her, and get I feel grief for her.

And it's sad, because I will never know her.

It almost seems unfair. That such a clever girl. Full of life, and hope. Would be lost at such a young age. A few days after her passing, my classmates and I went over to her house. We bought baked goods we gave to her parents. And a few stuffed toys to give to her younger siblings.

It wasn't much. But it was something.

Something that I can at least be proud of doing. My whole class can feel proud. Because, even though we barely knew her. We watched her. We watched her though the games. I watched her for ten whole years. We watched her, realized this. That she was one of us- just a child. And since during the time she spent with us, we felt as if we had almost excluded, and forgot her a bit. We want to remember her now. Just like how we want the world to remember her.

Because Finch wasn't just another pretty face in the games. She wasn't just some poor, poor little girl. Who got reaped for the Hunger Games, and died. She wasn't just another tribute. She was clever, and brave. Analytical, and intelligent. She was a real girl. All too real to me. And even though I didn't know her. Her impression will always be left upon me.

It's almost kind of strange. The girl I barely knew, has changed my life. It's just a shame that she can't be around to see it.

But this time around, I will not just let her drift through my mind. I will not forget her.

And maybe it sounds juvenile- in fact it is Juvenile. But during class the other day, I wrote a little nursery rhyme for her. (That doesn't actually rhyme-but whatever) One that fits her better.

_Stick and stones can't break your bones._  
><em>Words shan't every harm you.<em>  
><em>Finches fly so high up in the sky.<em>  
><em>Spread your wings.<em>  
><em>And let the warm air guide you. <em>  
><em>Take your place among the stars.<em>  
><em>We will never forget you. <em>

Writing has never been my strong point. My poem sounds juvenile, and random. A mere knockout, spin-off of other such similar phrases I've heard. But, it's a poem nonetheless. Finch was a child. She will always be a child. She will never grow beyond fifteen. And to all of Panem, she is just another fallen tribute. Just another casualty of the Hunger Games.

But to me, she will always be Finch. Just Finch. The girl who I barely knew, yet she still changed my life.

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><p><strong>What did you think? I don't feel like this is one of the strongest things I've written. But, like I said earlier. I did just sort of write it for fun. Please leave me a review with some of your thoughts! :D And once again, thank you so much for reading!<strong>


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